Some Sort of Metaphor

I was culling pictures out of my phone the other day and came across this shot from Namibia. Not surprisingly, it seemed like a metaphor for my life at the moment, in between my own sorrow and the isolation caused by the pandemic and the country falling to pieces in this Trumpian dystopian nightmare.

There has to be some path ahead.

Testing in a Testing Age

Last week I wasn't feel well, not terrible, just a little puny (as we'd say in Indiana) and my chest felt a little wonky. In a normal age I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but in this world we live in presently it's not difficult for your thoughts to go to a dark place. I talked to my doctor - my first ever video doctor's appointment - and he was over 99% certain that I didn't have the COVID-19 virus, and told me that he hadn't seen a positive test in over two weeks. Vermont may be the very definition of a #YankeeHellhole, but we're leading in the nation in handling the Coronavirus pandemic. Still, we decided to get a test because the more information we have, both individually and collectively, the better. So, we arranged the test, and it's one of those odd moments in an odd age when you carry out a medical procedure while sitting in your car. The entire process took around ten minutes, and the procedure itself about thirty seconds. It's not nearly as bad as advertised, and far more unpleasant than truly painful. The nurse sticks the long swab all the way up your nose until it essentially comes out at the end of your throat. It was most unpleasant when she pulled it out, although I don't know why. She told me that I'd hear in three or four days. They actually called me the next day and I missed the call, leaving only a message to call them back. Now, the current mythology is that if they call you right away it's because you've tested positive for the virus, so I immediately was worried, less because I'm afraid of being sick but because I thought I might have unwittingly made someone else sick. As it turns out I got someone on the phone right away and she told me that the results were negative, so I'm not sick. Obviously, that was a tremendous relief, and provided a bit of certainty in a terribly uncertain age. It made me feel a lot better in regards to the folks I'd come into contact with, and it also allowed me to get back to the Food Shelf. My friend Kevin and I celebrated the good news by driving down to Middlebury for an A&W run (milkshakes, chili cheese-dogs and fried cheese curds can solve most problems).

The nurse did a wonderful job. Before we started I told her that I know that it's her job, but that I truly appreciated it and her efforts. She seemed moved by the statement, which is doubtless a reflection on how horrible so many of us have been in response to the pandemic.

Rowing

If I were more technologically sophisticated I'd find a way to have Patty Griffin's The Rowing Song play when you looked at this picture. My son sent along this wonderful picture, and I decided to post it. He lives right on Lake Champlain in a sweet little spot, and quite frequently canoes around the lake. I'm so proud of him, and I love him so much it hurts. It's such a blessing to have him so close.

I don't know if he could actually canoe to Iceland, but I'm sure he would if he could.

Shelburne Farms

I was thinking that I should create a separate Label for Pandemic since so many of my posts lately seem to be about surviving the pandemic or at least my life during it (essentially, I really need to get back to writing about my overseas experiences, which was the point of this blog in the first place). I really miss the gym and have been participating in this three times a week zoom core class (although I managed to sleep through it this morning; I got up in the middle of the night to knock off my Ramadan requirements, but then ended up falling back asleep afterwards) but beyond that the only exercise I've gotten has been long walks every day. Yesterday I accepted the invitation from my friend Cindy to meet at Shelburne Farms for a walk, and somehow I always forget that the farm is an option (I think there's actually some stipulation that it's technically an option for people who live in Shelburne, but that may either be incorrect or it has loosened up because of the pandemic). It was a lovely day, and getting out and about improved my mood dramatically.

There's obviously some sort of metaphor here, and, typically, we took the road less traveled.

Cindy and I are that most modern of couples, the "gym spouses," meaning that we bump into each other much more at the gym than at school. She's a good soul, and dutifully and happily participates in all the Honey Boy talks and the online Top 10 Books chats. She's not normally this happy, and mainly lives to cause fights on social media.

Some days the #YankeeHellhole is less hellholish.

Discography - Desert Island Discs

Everyone remembers the Desert Island Discs, or at least all right-thinking individuals remember them. It's a BBC radio program which actually began in 1942 (truthfully, I didn't know it was that old) and it still carries on today. The idea is that you're a castaway on a desert island and you only have a certain number of albums, ones that you'd be happy to listen to endlessly. It seemed like a good challenge for the Discography crew, especially during the Great Isolation. Through a series of high level meetings, with myself, obviously, it is the Great Isolation after all, I set the number of albums at eleven. Why? As anyone who has ever suffered through a fantasy baseball draft with me knows, I like prime numbers.

Wilson o Voleibol

Willie Nelson—Willie & Family Live:  A double dose of live Willie, at height of the Outlaw emergence.  Great album.

Patsy Cline—Showcase: You’d Be Crazy to not bring this album.  You would be lonely otherwise.

Lucinda Williams—Car Wheels on a Gravel Road: I think this was Lucinda’s best album.

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit—The Nashville Sound: If you were a Vampire, you’d be fine listening to this eternally.

Otis Gibbs—Mount Renraw: Sputnik Monroe and Empire Hole?  There’s no better album for altruist wrestlers or displaced Hoosiers. 

The Doors—eponymous: The Doors were one of those bands that did their best stuff first.

Pink Floyd—Animals: Sure, Dark Side of the Moon is a classic-squared.  Animals is under-appreciated and almost as deep.  I’ll pack it for the island. 

Bruce Springsteen & the E-Street Band—Wrecking Ball: An extraordinary album that transitions from the Clarence to Jake Clemons days.

Dave Brubeck—Time Out:  Anglo Kind of Blue.

The Who—Who’s Next: The best of the big four.  I’ll take this over Beatles, Stones, or Zeppelin.

Bottle Rockets—South Broadway Athletic Club: I like dogs and dogs like balls.  So there. 

Alice Neiley

Here's my Desert Island Discs entry! It just....took a while to decide.... 

Okay everyone -- clearly I take these things far too seriously, but HONESTLY HOW DOES ONE DECIDE BETWEEN PATTY GRIFFIN ALBUMS?!

Anyway, I did manage to limit myself to 12 (without cheating, Mike Kelly). To illustrate my shrewd decision making skills, attached is a photo of the list I made on paper. I took a page from Phil Seiler's brilliant strategy with regards to what each album would be 'needed' for...

Here's the final cut: 

1. Impossible Dream -- Patty Griffin

I was tortured with this decision. As Scudder mentioned in his post, Griffin's work is masterful, and in my opinion, she releases a KNOCKOUT album almost every time. The last couple have been slightly less revelatory (at least musically), but for me, every time I thought I'd decided on an album of hers to take to my desert island, I remembered certain songs that WEREN'T on that album, and had to re-evaluate again. It was between the albums Flaming Red, Let Him Fly, Impossible Dream, and American Kid, but ultimately my choice didn't surprise me. Impossible Dream is the most versatile in pacing and emotional breadth: "Useless Desires" was my theme song for many, many years, until it switched to "Rowing Song" -- I feel that music in my bones. "Top of the World", "Mother of God" and "When it Don't Come Easy" are also gems -- introspective lyrically, gorgeous melodically -- perfect for sitting alone on a desert island, contemplating the nature of humanity, loneliness, and love. 

2. How Glory Goes -- Audra McDonald

I have been obsessed with Audra McDonald since high school. By my senior year, I was auditioning for performing arts universities by singing from a list of songs almost entirely comprised from her albums. Her vocal range is similar to mine, though she is a master and I an amateur. Still, her songs were perfect for me. It was more than the range, though. They filled me up. The tunes on this album in particular are by a range of composers -- some from musicals (including Showboat, my favorite). Each song tells a rich story. I couldn't live without being told stories, and this album is perfect for that -- not to mention the fact that I'd be able to sing along with Audra's incredible, perfect voice. 

3. Nina Simone in Concert -- Nina Simone

Well, this is really self explanatory. There's no one, NO ONE better for the blues than Simone. The choice of a live album felt rather obvious, as there's nothing quite like hearing Nina talk about music / politics / life, but it was between Nina Simone in Concert (a mish mash of various live performances) or Nina in Newport. Ultimately, it came down to whether I cared more about having the tune "Trouble in Mind" or "Mississippi Goddam." I eventually decided that, given my lack of knowledge/affinity for overtly political or angry music, "Mississippi Goddam" needed to be in my desert island life. For the intelligent rage it delivers, of course. 

4. Ella and Louis Sing Gershwin -- Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

Oh...my. Well. Often I'm a bit envious of Kathy Seiler's ability to leave nostalgia out of her emotional repertoire, but it's certainly in mine. In fact, it might be my favorite in which to spend my time, for better or worse, depending on the situation. Ella, especially with Louie, singing Gershwin, is the fastest way there -- both a comfort and a pang of remembrance. 

5. October Road -- James Taylor

Taylor released October Road in the early 2000s. It had been quite some time since he'd recorded an album, and in the meantime he'd undergone rehab for addiction, etc. His voice on this album is arguably clearer and stronger/deeper than any of his previous albums, whether due to physical shifts or otherwise, and the tunes are just lovely. They all have that James Taylor shimmer of familiarity, which I figure I might need...you know, like a friend...and possibly something to sing me to sleep. ALSO, for some reason, his version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is tacked onto the end of the album...perfect for a lonesome desert island holiday. 

6. Porgy and Bess -- Miles Davis

It may seem as if I'm copying Scudder, but in fact, he and I just have creepily similar taste in music, and apparently in specific albums as well. Porgy and Bess is one of the most brilliant musicals/operas ever, and while I love the original cast recording, Davis's versions are my favorites. It's one of his most genius albums, even though he didn't write the music. The arrangements maintain the beauty of the original tunes, but transform the intensity into a mellow depth of feeling one can simply sink into while drinking that dandelion wine Kathy made and watching water lap up on the edge of the island.

7. Rent -- Original Cast Recording

There is literally no dialogue in the entire Rent musical -- it's all in song -- so the recording covers every moment in the show; therefore, listening to it is like watching a movie. At least for me. I saw the show twice on Broadway and have basically all the tunes memorized, so rocking out to this musical would be both entertainment and release -- obviously I would be singing along. How can you not sing along to "Out Tonight" or "Without You" or "I'll Cover You" or...

8. My Fair Lady -- Original Cast Recording

Again here, most of the musical is relayed on the soundtrack, especially since Rex Harrison can't really sing, so he speaks melodically along with the tunes. I've always loved the odd story, and my dad and I used to play the record over and over on Sundays while making breakfast. I suppose listening to this would be another excuse for a nostalgic journey, but old school musicals have always given me a bubbly sort of joy that nothing else can replicate. Since most of my music library veers toward the melancholy/soulful, some bubbly stuff is especially necessary. I do like pop music, but usually on a one-off song basis. Musicals are reliable. If I'm going to be isolated on an island, away from my youngest brother who usually keeps me abreast of any new bubble-gum pop I'll enjoy, I need some My Fair Lady lightness. 

9. Forget About it It -- Alison Krauss

Obviously someone will rig up a hammock on the island. I fully intend to nap in it while listening through this whole album. Even if our desert island is like permanent summer, it feels necessary to differentiate the seasons musically. This album IS summer. It might even bring a breeze -- especially with the songs "Stay", "Forget About It", and "It Don't Matter Now". 

10. Court and Spark -- Joni Mitchell

ANOTHER TOUGH CHOICE. I almost went with Blue, but Court and Spark contains a wider range of psychological and emotional states. I particularly love the title track, but essentially every track is both singable and perfect to either get stoned or wine-buzzed with. Also, we're all bound to feel a little crazy trapped on an island, and "Twisted" makes an appearance as the last track on this album. Regardless, I personally certainly couldn't survive without Joni's voice or early melodies for very long -- it's like an elixir -- those clear high notes sort of zipping and gliding through your veins. 

11. Smooth Grooves: The Essential Soul (Various Artists) 

I'm sure someone will give me shit about choosing a 'collection' (Mike Kelly), but it's NOT more than one album, and it's the best variety of 70s soul tunes ever. In the days before Spotify, it was harder to find a 'mix' that covered all the bases of a genre/mood, but I stumbled upon this compilation album in 2004. It's romantic, mournful, has groove and beats, and one can dance to almost all the songs -- alone or with friends, fast or slow. To let you in further on the reasoning for this choice, the tracklist includes (not limited to): "Could it Be I'm Falling in Love" -- Spinners; "Me and Mrs. Jones" -- Billy Paul; "Best Thing that Ever Happened to Me" -- Gladys Knight/Pips; "Let's Stay Together" -- Al Green; "What You Won't Do For Love" --Bobby Caldwell...etc. 

12. Lemonade -- Beyonce

Go ahead, laugh, but everyone needs a pump up album, and Lemonade wins in the badass beats/samples department. Say what you want about Beyonce, but this album is pretty amazing on a lot of levels -- the songs range from slow and sad, to sexy, to tracks good for running or punching the air. HOWEVER, it also appeals to intellectual engagement. Lemonade is a concept album, so there's multi-faceted story about betrayal happening (the breakdown of her marriage to Jay Z, but also the betrayal of African Americans in the United States. The tracks alternate between the personal and societal, but within each track there are layers of both angles as well. Full syllabi have been designed from this album, using its themes to choose and organize readings for the semester. I've always loved Beyonce for the pop star she is, but this album surprised me, and continues to surprise the more times I listen -- it's big and complex and smart and...well...really, really fun. 

Phil Seiler

As usual, I had to overthink this. I could just pick my most listened to albums and call it a day (and in fact, there is some crossover.) But no, I had to think of the actually dilemma of being stuck on a deserted island and what that might mean. So I decided I needed to make sure I had albums to cover the various emotions you might feel being all alone with nothing but these 11 discs. And really, this is Scudder's fault because he originally stated when we were discussing this theme that he wouldn't select a Neil Young album because it was too (morose?, brooding? depressive?). So anyway, here's what I think might get me through.

Anger: Hüsker Dü - Zen Arcade

I Will Never Forget You

You are going to need to rage at some point. Hüsker Dü will always be my go to for that. Find the densest copse of palm trees and slam dance the night away against them until the rage is gone.

Longing: Prefab Sprout - Steve McQueen
Appetite
So many songs on this album I could feature but Appetite captures the mood I am going for: the bittersweet joy of sorrow, of longing. "I'm a poor slave of appetite."

Meditation: Todd Rundgren - Healing
Shine
This album was always going to be on the list. It is my go to when I need to just be quiet, listen to the universe, and heal. Shine!

Righteousness: Public Enemy - Fear of a Black Planet
Welcome to the Terrordome
You're damn right you need to feel righteous about being stuck on an island all alone with only 11 albums. Chuck D will spit all you feel and Terminator X will flood the zone with sound. And Flavor will Flav.

Sincere Simplicity: John Denver and the Muppets - A Christmas Together
The Peace Carol
I needed a Christmas album. I wanted two but there was no room so John Denver and the Muppets win.

Inebriation: The Pogues - Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash
A Pair of Brown Eyes
Eventually you are going to learn how to ferment the sugar cane. And when you do, you'll need the Pogues.

Sensuality: Kirtsy MaColl - Tropical Brainstorm
Celestine
We don't stop having needs just because we are alone and abandoned on a warm tropical island. Let the island rhythms transport you to a more carnal place.

Joy: Talk Talk - The Color of Spring
Life's What You Make It
I will need an anthem to express my joy, my creed to the universe. Much like Julian Sands standing in the tree in the Italian countryside in A Room with a View, this album, and this song in particular, will be my shout to the universe that I live.

Contemplative: Thelonius Monk - Monk's Dream

Monk's Dream

I am very salty about this whole assignment but especially because I will invariably omit, or severely underrepresented, some genres of music that I love. Jazz falls in this category. But I have to have at least one and Thelonius falls in the "dance with who brung ya" category for me and serious jazz.

Crowded House - Together Alone
Distant Sun
I just need an album of good pop and this is as good as it gets. No emotion for this one. Don't care. Neil Finn is a genius of pop song craft.

Something New and Random
True Adventures

Breaking Up The Fight
I can't survive without new music so I'd have to just grab something off the store shelf on my way out the door. I grabbed this randomly out of a list of new music on Apple music. But it can and will be whatever. Life is short. We need both old and new friends.

Jack Schultz

Miles Davis—Kind of Blue:  I could listen to this in an endless loop and never grow tired of it.  It is the apex of human improvisation.  As audible sound goes, this may be as good as it gets.

Sturgill Simpson—A Sailor’s Guide to Earth:  The combination of Sturgill Simpson’s passion and the Dap Kings’ incomparable support make this a mega-classic.  The live performances on SNL were breathtaking.  The only problem with this album, given the title, is the sheepishness associated with ending up on a deserted isle.

John Prine—Tree of Forgiveness:   Prine was a genius.  You could pick any of his albums and never grow tired of it.  I’ll take this one, but if someone on an adjacent island wants to swap for eponymous, Sweet Revenge, or Fair and Square, I’m in.

Guy Clark—Old No. 1:  Such a great songwriter and mentor to many musicians who convey the human condition.  Regarding his song Texas 1947, Lyle Lovett pointed out that most people believe it’s a song about the past.  Mr. Lovett observed it’s really about the future.  If you write a song that captures the emotions of the past and the future, what else is there?

Jethro Tull—Stand Up:  I’ve been a Tull fan my entire life.  To me, this is their best album. Best song—Back to the Family which inexplicably uses silence between each verse as a powerful percussive reset.  Commercialism—who needs it? The third track is Bach’s Bouree.  Fat Man introduced me to one of my favorite musical features, the close-mic’d guitar.  I love every song on this album.  Recently heard Ian Anderson describe their fan evolution as a “slow burn”, not a meteoric shooting star.  That’s accurate.

Little Feat—Waiting for Columbus: One of the greatest live albums.  As if Little Feat wasn’t enough, they toured with Tower of Power.  The horns are awesome (see Sturgill Simpson with Dap Kings).  Also, Willin’ is one of the best songs ever written.  It pains me to think of what Lowell George could have done with more time….

Allman Bros—Live at the Fillmore East: Another truly awesome live album.  Per many virtuoso guitar players, Duane Allman could do things with a guitar that no one did before or since.  In Memory of Elizabeth Red is a 13:10 jam on this album.  It could last 131 years and I would not tire of it.  Two southern rock guitar geniuses (I’m looking at you, Dickie Betts) inspired by Miles Davis—perfection.

Sarah Harmer—You Were Here:  Sarah Harmer is the master of understated vocals with a variety of instruments in accompaniment.  Lodestar is an incredible song with insightful lyrics and a changing pace.  She also brings energetic angst to the song Weakened State (not my alma mater).  Great Album.

Bruce Springsteen & the E-Street Band—Darkness on the Edge of Town:  If I had to choose one Springsteen album, this would be it.  It has an unrelenting energy and anger.  Candy’s Room is underrated and one my all-time favorite Springsteen songs. 

Lukas Nelson & the Promise of the Real—Turn Off the News (Build a Garden): It’s important to have music that keeps you sane during these troubled times.  This is it.  Also, it enables me to get Willie Nelson on the list as he participates in this great album.

Neil Young—Live Rust: Honestly, my favorite Neil Young album is Rust Never Sleeps, which helped me cope with a time when most music (i.e. disco) was bad.  However, Like a Hurricane is a song that has to be with me on the island.  Therefore, I’m picking Live Rust.

Gary Scudder

Initially I considered all of these rules about how I was going to compile this list, but realized that I was overthinking the question (it had to happen eventually) and went back and considered the albums that I listen to most frequently.

Bill Evans, Everybody Digs Bill Evans.

Anybody who has ever read the previous Discography posts is quite familiar with my love for Bill Evans, and especially this album, his second. Beyond having the greatest album name ever, obviously, it is classic Bill Evans As I'm wont to opine, Evans played notes that don't exist, and you can practically feel him fingers on the keys, and exactly the pressure he places on each one. I first fell in love with Peace Piece, which is largely improvisational, and it has been a go to for calming my troubled soul forever. Their are so many classic songs on this album, although my current favorite is Young and Foolish. When discussing beauty in my Aesthetic Expressions class I routinely play this song when we discuss whether beauty exists in and of itself or whether it is a product of education or training or culture. While it plays in the background I always tell my student, with not so mock severity, that it is physically impossible for anyone in the world at anytime to listen to this song and not recognize it as beautiful, and if any of them kick back even gently they are publicly and appropriately ridiculed.

Neil Young, Tonight's the Night

Who didn't see this one coming? It's not simply that I consider it the greatest album of the rock era, it's also an album that I have to be willing to listen to at the exclusion of a lot of other music for the rest of time. Following the logic I laid out above, however, it is an album that I still listen to all the time, so it would fit the criteria. So, why is that? I think in the end it's just searingly honest, certainly in regards to the allure of the drug world more than balanced by the pain he felt at the passing of friends from drugs, but also unwavering belief that he was going to do what he wanted to do and he didn't care if you liked it or not (and isn't this what we expect artists to do?). My favorite song is Tired Eyes, but I also love Albuquerque and Borrowed Tune. I mean, how can you not love an album that starts and ends with two ragged versions of the same song?

Kathleen Edwards, Back To Me

This album, Edwards' second, was my first introduction to her music. I go back and forth on which of her albums I think is best, and, truthfully, I think they're all great. That said, this is the one that I end up listening to the most, so I'll promote that one. She provided the soundtracks for the two relationships that defined my 50s: Summerlong from this album and Empty Threat from Voyageur. Pink Emerson Radio is simply one of the great songs about the commodification of memory. Copied Keys, Independent Thief and What Are You Waiting For? are finely layered songs about the vagaries of love and desire. Oh, and she makes a great sandwich.

John Coltrane, A Love Supreme

I mean, seriously, what is there to even say about this album? There are simply times in art when the pursuit of the sublime becomes manifest, and this is one of those instances. The word genius is thrown around way too often; this is not one of those times: Acknowledgment, Resolution, Pursuance, Psalm. Every time I listen to the album feels like the first time I ever listened to it.

Bruce Springsteen, Darkness on the Edge of Town

I've always like Springsteen a lot, although I've often found myself not liking some of his more popular albums as much as others have (this may also simply be my contrarian nature). From the beginning Darkness on the Edge of Town has been my favorite album of his, and that hasn't changed. Naturally enough I've always compared it to NY's Tonight's the Night in that they are two albums which are dark, uncompromising and brilliant. For a long time Candy's Room was my favorite Springsteen song, and it would still be up there. And I know I've made this point way too often, but when Springsteen sings If she wants to see me in the title song and the hair doesn't stand up on the back of you neck then you're clearly dead.

Lucinda Williams, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road

Actually, there may be Lucinda Williams' albums (Sweet Old World, World Without Tears) that I listen to as often as Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, but how do you ignore the seminal work of of the best songwriter of the last thirty years? This was another singer introduced to me by Beatrice/Kelley promotions. Right In Time is a great way to kickoff the album, and it's about the purest expression of desire ("I think of you and that long ride") that you can imagine. The album closes with Jackson, which will be featured on the Side of the Road Lucinda-themed tour of the South. Everything in between is brilliant and its hard to pick one particular song to celebrate, although Lake Charles is truly transcendent.

Miles Davis, Porgy and Bess

I think I now have almost as many Miles Davis album as I do Neil Young albums, and that tells you all you need to know about my love of Davis.  Truthfully, I could have almost filled up this list with nothing but Miles Davis albums. I don't think I ducked Kind of Blue, although I figured other folks would, quite rightly, tackle it. That said, I think over the last few years I've actually listened to Porgy and Bess more. The fact that Davis' rendering of the George Gershwin opera is routinely considered a more pure vision of genius than its inspiration is also telling. His Summertime is simply iconic. I Wants To Stay Here (aka I Loves Your Porgy) is so beautifully rendered, and speaks to Davis' often overlooked ability to trust the song. My Man's Gone Now is a song that I can't ever seem to get out of my head, even if I haven't listened to the album in a while. Oh, and speaking of protean genius, Davis released Porgy and Bess, Kind of Blue and Sketches of Spain in little more than a year. Dude, that's like when gods walked the earth level mythology (hence my serious and unwavering belief that Davis was the great American genius of the 20th century).

Patty Griffin, Impossible Dream

This was a tough call for me because I've become a huge fan of hers and it came down to a call between Impossible Dream and Living With Ghosts (although that alone leaves out some great albums). In the end I settled on Impossible Dream because of several songs which have seemingly taken up permanent residence in my mind (and heart). Her Rowing Song always reminds me of my trip to trip to Iceland with my son, but, more deeply, with my tortured but growing acceptance of my own mortality. Growing up and the loss of innocence is one of the staples of music, but it has seldom been handled more delicately and painfully than her Florida. Beyond featuring use of one of the great overlooked uses of baseball as a metaphor, Griffin's Useless Desires delivers more truth than most artists manage to do in an entire career.

Neil Young, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere

I don't know what one says about an album that includes Cowgirl in the Sand, Down By the River and Cinnamon Girl, and none of them are the best song on the album. This album is a fundamental plank in the Young folklore as apparently NY wrote several of the songs while laid up in bed at his ranch with a deliriously high fever. It's difficult to beat Danny Whitten-era Crazy Horse. The central role that it's played in my life is maybe best shown by the fact that all my son wanted on his sixteenth birthday was a CD of the album. Oh, and I think the best song on the album is Running Dry (Requiem for the Rockets).

Drive-By Truckers, Decoration Day

I've become a huge Drive-By Truckers fan - and, yes, I'll tell anyone who is willing or unwilling to listen that they are the greatest American band - and I owe that to Dave Kelley and Gary Beatrice (both of whom have a much more encyclopedic knowledge of music than I'll ever have). So, I guess this could have been anyone of about three Drive-By Truckers' albums, but this is the one that I inevitably end up playing the most. It's scary to think of the musical talent that existed in that band when you had Cooley, Hood and Isbell all writing songs. This album is a classic example of why Isbell, in addition to his personal health/sanity had to leave the band. His two songs are Decoration Day and Outfit, both of which are great. Marry Me by Cooley is underappreciated. As our friend Dave Mills likes to opine, there's nothing like seeing me screaming Hell No I Ain't Happy at a DBT show when I'm clearly very, very happy.

Ryan Adams, Love Is Hell

Yes, I know that we're supposed to be down on Ryan Adams now, but I'd also be lying if I said that I don't still listen to him a lot. Love Is Hell is just an amazing album and one that has been on constant play for me for years. Some combination of This House Is Not For Sale and Anybody Wanna Take Me Home express the joys and sorrows of my last decade. English Girls Approximately makes me smile, although by the end its a sad one, for the obvious reasons. Please Do Not Let Me Go is almost existentially heartbreaking.

Pushkar Lake 2020

We visited the sacred Pushkar Lake on the recent trip to India. Once again it was an educational and moving experience for the students, and once again I ended up getting into an argument with the local brahman priests who were pressing us for heavy donations from the students.

Oh, and I'd forgotten that Pushkar Lake is mentioned in the Ramayana. I've been focusing on the Ramayana for my never-ending writing project on the epics and it brought back memories.

Back to Me

As this semester clumsily ended, sort of the academic equivalent of coitus interruptus, it marked the conclusion of my twentieth year at Champlain. As with most of life, I suppose, it has been an incredible mixture of good and bad, a lot of joy and a hell of a lot of heartache. It's difficult to imagine how different my life would be if I had followed my first instinct and turned down Champlain's offer, staying at Georgia Perimeter (where I taught for nine years, although it seems like a blur now). I'd probably still be married, own my own house by now, and would be looking at the very real possibility of actually retiring, as compared to being alone and facing the reality that I'll never be able to retire and will die in harness. Still, in most other ways my life is immeasurably richer. When I lived in Atlanta I didn't even have a passport, and now I've spent going on three years of my life overseas. And it's not just the international experience, obviously, it's also the extraordinary number of close friends which I didn't let myself have while at GPC. I had good friends, some of which I'm still in contact with, but I don't think I did anything with them, at least officially, outside of work. Beyond trysting during work hours I don't think I ever left the house to spend time with any friends, while, in a world not dominated by the Great Isolation, it seems like I'm perpetually running around with friends now. And, no, I can't imagine that I would have embarked on the spiritual path I've followed if I had stayed in the sunny South. So, it's hard to say that it's been a bad move, even if my heart is pretty shredded at the moment. Here's a picture that one of my students snapped on the first Zanzibar trip, featuring me, replete with Rising Sun shirt, looking out of Chaka Chaka on the island of Pemba in Zanzibar.

I think Kathleen Edwards did it better.

Top 10 Books Chat

No, this isn't actually a blog post about my own personal Top 10 Books (I think I already did that once before, although I suppose I should update it). Since we've been locked down in the Great Isolation I've been setting up online opportunities for my friends and colleagues to keep engaged/entertained/connected. Obviously, the Discography conversation is an example, and we have another one coming up (or more than one, but more on that later). I've also been running Google Handout sessions with friends. My oldest friends, Jack and Dave, have been joining me for a Monday evening chat which we call Pink Master's Bar & Grill after the famous/infamous bar in Savannah. I've also been running a couple recurring online meetings with colleagues and friends at Champlain (who else will look after the Junior Faculty). Every two weeks we've been meeting in a group called So, What Are You Reading? which is pretty self-explanatory (although last week I was the only one who showed up so I may socially garrote that one. A more popular meeting has been a Top 10 Books discussion that we hold every Tuesday evening. One of my friends chooses ten books, which could their most favorite or the most meaningful or some other theme (my great friend Mike Kelly chose subversive books), and they walk us through them, and then we jump in with questions/comments, either by temporarily un-muting using the chat feature. We've had some great conversation, and I really should collect all the lists and send them around and publish them here.It's also so wonderful just to hang out with friends.

Here's the crew that showed up to hear Mike Lange's Top 10 Books, which was actually very moving. It also spun off into a discussion of Doc Savage books. It's difficult to say who brought the subject up, could be anyone, but they all stared at me like I (well, potentially anyone, really) was crazy, until Lionel blurted, "Oh my God, I think I read that!"

Not So Social Distancing

It seems that that we spend most of our time during the Great Isolation looking at ourselves in Google Hangout or Zoom meetings. Hopefully, this might actually serve as an impetus and opportunity for self-reflection and growth, although we may just come out of it more sociopathic and self-absorbed than before the pandemic hit.

The combination of pandemic, being dumped, and Ramadan has led to an extraordinary amount of isolation and loneliness; I think I've taken "me time" to the molecular level.

Charmed

Yes, you spend endless amounts of time planning your overseas trip with students, mainly focused on their safety, and you turn your back for one minute . . .

. . . that's exactly how long it took Wes to track down a snake charmer in New Delhi.

Sunday in the Park - during the Pandemic

During the Great Isolation we have to grab joy, and for that matter simple human companionship, where we can. Yesterday, on our first truly glorious day of spring (which shouldn't fall on a May 3rd, but such is life in the #YankeeHellhole) I met a few close friends at Oakledge Park for some appropriately socially distanced convivial splendor. I wonder how long after the pandemic is finally satisfied and recedes, a bit, into the background before we forget how glorious it is just to spend time with friends.

Sunday in the Park with Kevin, the mastermind of the day.

Debbie and Sandy discussing the chore of getting Sanford's beard and hair trimmed.